Punch (65.1873)

SEPTEMBER 20, 1873.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

117

OCCASIONAL HAPPY THOUGHTS.

Still bent on the purchase of a Horse. Plans.

pportunely in tlie interim
between this conversation
with Gloppin and my inter-
view with Clumber, the
Flyman, I spend to the
best advantage in obtain-
ing information as to horses
generally.

The reports about the
prices of horses just now
are something alarming.

A casual acquaintance in
a train has something to
say on the subject. This
casual acquaintance I have
long taken to be of a
strongly sporting turn, for
three reasons : firstly, be-
cause he lives, I believe, a
long way out in the coun-
try ; secondly, because, in
the summer, he wears a
white hat with a black
band round it; and, thirdly,
because I don’t know his
name, or his profession, or
business, if any; but, in a
general way, I suppose him
to be ‘ ‘ something in the
only much more so, in the country, where I
can imagine him strolling through his stables -with a cigar sticking
out of one side of his mouth, his hat cocked on the other side of his
head, to balance the cigar, and inspecting everything, from a break
to a handful of oats, with the air of a man who had been taken in
once, but was never going to be “ had alive ” again.

At the same time, and on due consideration, I should not be
extraordinarily astonished were he to turn out to he the Cashier of
some Mercantile Firm, at work from nine till four regularly, with
ten days’ holiday in the summer.

Assuming him, however, to be of a sporting turn for the purposes
of conversation-

Happy Thought.■—Ey the way, to assume everyone to be some-
thing merely for the purposes of conversation. Must lead to dis-
cussion.

For example, assume a man to be a soldier; talk to him of the

-1 can’t), manoeuvres,


City,” and something

assume a man
latest invention in breech-loaders (if you can-

campaigns, the exemplary conduct of the Light Cavalry in
Abyssinia (if you know anything about it—I don’t), and so forth.
He will join you satisfactorily for some time, then you can put such
a test-question to him as would tend to elicit his opinion with regard
to “the probable expense of a Messman’s Kit?” or any such
professionally-military-sounding inquiry. Should he really haj)pen
to be in the Army, then he will probably stick his glass in his eye,
seem puzzled, and ask you “ what the deuce you mean ?” in which
case, you can retire behind your trenches (I haven’t the faintest
notion what effect this would have on an enemy, but I’ve often met
the phrase in print, and like it), and pleasantly beg to be pardoned
if your “phraseology” (use this word) is incorrect; or say “tech-
nically incorrect,” which does look as if you had some acquaintance
with the subject—and add that you yourself are not a military
man.

Should he, however, have to excuse himself on the same score, you
can take high ground (all part of metaphorical field operations with
“trenches” and “high ground”), and observe that you had asked
for information, under the impression that he was in the Army.
This will flatter him, as a rule, and he may after this confide to you,
with a smile, that he travels in the wool trade.

Happy Thought.—If so, look out for being fleeced. [N.B.—
Arrange this yew de mot. Put it down to Sydney Smith, or Stttvrt-
dan, or Theodore Hook.]

This “ assumption for purposes of conversation” would really be
found a most entertaining pastime for v oy a gears. You can be

eccentric in your assumptions. Thus, meeting a gentleman in black,
with an imitation Roman collar, high ecclesiastical coat, and so
forth, you can ask him, “ How ’s the dashing Ninety-fourth getting
on ?” and “where he’s quartered now?” If this irritates him, be
provided with pince-nez ; pull them out, stick them on your nose,
survey him from hat to heel, and apologise for short-sightedness.

Assume somebody you’ve never seen before in your life to be
Lord Wunborough, for example, whom also you’ve never set eyes
on. In the course of conversation on politics, say to him, with a
knowing twinkle, but preserving a deferential tone, “Yet I think

your Lordship voted on the opposite side last Session.” He will
blush, smile, feel half inclined to accept the title, but honesty will
gain the victory over his innate snobbism, and he will reply, most
good-naturedly, “ I think, Sir, you mistake me for some other gen-
tleman.” He will not add, “I am not a Lord,” because to do so
would be to let himself down too suddenly from the pedestal where
you had placed him. After this the conversation will flow easily,
and you ’ll have made a friend of him for life. When he re-enters
the bosom of his family, he’ll say to his wife, “Fancy, Eliza, I
was taken for Lord Wunborough to-day. Absurd, wasn’t it?”
His wife won’t see anything absurd in it, and, on the whole, depend
upon it that, in this case, you’ve put husband and wife in a good
temper, and made a whole household happy for one evening.

Assume a Banker to be a distinguished Artist, and he ’ll be de-
lighted. Assume an Artist to be a Queen’s Counsel, and he ’ll be
immensely pleased. Assume a gentleman at large to be the Secre-
tary attached to some foreign legation, with a secret mission, and
he ’ll be highly gratified. Assume that a literary man would have
made a first-rate preacher, and that a philosophical writer would
have made his fortune if he had only stuck to the violoncello, and
you will increase the number of your friends everywhere.

On the strength of these assumptions, they will everywhere speak
of you as a “deuced sharp chap,” a man who “sees below the
surface,” one who can “read you up,” and so forth. And why?
Because you’ve struck the key-note of that general dissatisfaction
which everyone feels, and which is the strongest reason for everyone
so working in his “ station of life,” as to make the best of it.

[N.B.—The moral finish of the above paragraph is a specimen of
my style in Typical Developments, Vol. VI., On Normal Causation
Socially Considered—and has not, of course, much to do with my
going in search of a horse. Still, it occurred to me. Before now,
I’ve been nearly two hours getting from Langham Church to
Leicester Square, simply because people would button-hole me in
Regent Street. And meeting my Casual Sporting Friend was an
opportunity to put before the world my Theory of Gratuitous
Assumptions, which was not to be lost. Passons ! ]

My Casual Acquaintance, the cause of the foregoing discursive-
ness, says, shaking his head,

“ Ah! horses are a price now. Why, you can’t look at one under
eighty guineas.”

Of course, as a fact, I have looked at one for less, and, to take it
literally, as merely meaning looking at a horse and nothing else, I
have looked at one—at several—for nothing.

To be always “ going to look at a horse” is, by the way, the
most inexpensive way of getting a reputation for being ‘ ‘ deuced
well off.”

. “ I went,” says my Casual Acquaintance, fiercely, as if recalling
the incident vividly to his own mind, and challenging any one to
contradict him, “ I went to look at a mare at Chick’s place, over
the Mil by Cooper’s Gravel Pits, you know——”

I nod ; so as to help Mm on: but I don’t know. However, such
names as “Chick’s place” and “Cooper’s Gravel Pits” have a
country-gentleman sort of ring about them, which, in a carriage
full of people, I would rather accept as matters of course than as
entire novelties taking me by surprise.

My Casual Acquaintance being satisfied, or appearing to be so,
continues, “ Well, when I got up to Chick’s, Old William there—■
you recollect Old William? ”—I look puzzled, feeling it won’t do
for me to recollect every one and everything with the same readiness
that I did “ Chick’s ” and the “ Gravel Pits,”—but he goes on to
explain, rather impatiently, that he means,

“ Old William, who used to he at the Kennels-”

Happy Thought.—0, yes ; of course. The Kennels.

[It’s no use, after acknowledging “ Chick’s,” &c., at first, to stick
at trifles, but I haven’t a notion of what he’s alluding to. It
suddenly strikes me that perhaps he is proceeding on a theory of
Gratmtous Assumptions, and that, as it were, he’s playing at
“ taking me for somebody else.” Be cautious what I admit.]

He goes on, “I thought you’d recollect Mm,” meaning Old
William, but I make no sign, being unwilling to go any further
into the mire. “ Well, Old William told me he’d got something
that ’ud suit me down to the ground. It was nice enough, and I
shouldn’t ha’ minded offering fifty for the mare. But, Lor bless
you ! what figure do you think they put her at ? ”

I don’t know. Eighty, I suggest, that being my idea of a
maximum price.

“Ah!” he rejoins, smiling ironically, “try twice eighty, and
you ’ll be nearer the mark. Two hundred guineas, Sir, they wanted
for that aMmal.”

I am incredulous.

“ It’s a fact,” he says, getting out, having to change carriages ;
“ and, if you ’re going in for horseflesh now-a-days, by Jove! you ’ll
have to pay for it. Good day.”

Happy Thought.—Better not “ go in for horseflesh.”

But my Casual Acquaintance must be mistaken. By the way,
I ’ll find out who he is. If he isn’t a sporting man at all, what on